The Thief (39 page)

Marcellus snorted. “Escape?” He looked at the line of sentries. “Impossible. His best chance is to see Pilate. I’ve been trying to get to him since yesterday, but he won’t see anyone. He’s been at the shrine since the earthquake, making sacrifices to Mars.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “And Silvanus almost killed Longinus already. I don’t know how much longer I can keep him from finishing the job.”

Escape might be impossible, but she had to try. “Just get me in.” She clutched his armor-clad arm. “Please.”

He blew out a long breath. “Be at the gate at the changing of the guard. When the horn blows. I’ll get you in, but I can’t guarantee anything else.”

Nissa’s heart lightened.
That’s all I need for now.

“Watch for my signal, and be quick.”

She nodded.

Marcellus brushed past her but turned back. “And Nissa?” His mouth turned down, and his eyes were sad. “Don’t expect much help. He’s in bad shape.”

LONGINUS LAY IN
the corner of the cell, clutching his ribs as pain cut off his breath. At least a few were broken. His head throbbed from a lump the size of a fig, and one eye was swollen shut. His mouth tasted of blood, and he could feel a space in the back where he’d lost a tooth when Silvanus had worked him over.

He opened his good eye. The sun filtered through the window. How long had he been here? He remembered the long night after Jesus had died, Silvanus coming at him with his fists and vitis until he knew nothing but pain. Then Marcellus. He’d stopped Silvanus, assured Longinus that Nissa had left the city, and brought water. When he’d left, he’d locked the carcer door. Not so that Longinus couldn’t get out but so that Silvanus couldn’t get in.

The pain came in waves, ebbing and flowing for what seemed like a lifetime. He drifted into darkness. Suddenly, he saw himself in battle, men and boys falling around him. He reached for his sword, but it wasn’t there. They called out to him for help, but he was powerless. The battle faded, and he was alone in a vast green forest, the breath of dawn breaking through the trees and peace filling him. There was Nissa, coming to him. Mist swirled, and she disappeared from his sight.

He opened his eyes to the damp cell, moonlight filtering
through the high window. Why was he still here? When would Silvanus come to finish the job or to bring him to Pilate? Or would he just be left here to die? If he went to Pilate, at least his sentence would be swift. Longinus had no defense. He had released Nissa, just as he’d freed Stephen and would have freed Jesus if Silvanus hadn’t stopped him. He was a traitor to Rome, and he knew his fate.

He bowed his head.
Your will, Abba, not mine.

Jesus had washed him clean. Finally he understood the peace he’d seen in Stephen, who had spent months in this cell. Longinus no longer feared death, but he did fear for Nissa.
Please, Abba, keep her safe.

The lock on the door rattled, and Longinus tensed. This was it. The end—either from Silvanus or Pilate. The door opened, and a torch blazed, blinding him. A wave of nausea swept over him as hands pulled him up and propped him against the damp wall. But it wasn’t Silvanus’s ugly face or even Marcellus he saw as his sight returned.
I’m dreaming again, and I don’t want to wake up.

Nissa ran a soft hand down his battered face. He flinched.
For a dream, that hurts.

“Longinus, can you hear me?” Her voice cracked with a soft sob. “Can you walk?”

He reached for her, but she seemed far away. In the torchlight, tears shone on her cheeks.
Now I know I’m dreaming.
His Nissa didn’t cry. Not even when Dismas died.

She put her face close to his, and her warm breath brushed his ear. “I’m going to get you out of here. You need to help me.” She set the torch on the floor, slipped her hands under his arms, and tugged.

Hot shards of pain ripped through his ribs. He groaned. “Don’t do that.” He pulled her closer until her head rested under his chin and buried his hands in her soft hair.
Might as well enjoy the dream before it disappears.

“We have to go, before Silvanus comes back.” She pulled at him again.

This time the pain was very real. He smelled the damp mustiness of the cell and the burning tallow of the torch.
No. This can’t be.
“Nissa. Get out.” The words scraped his throat.

“Get up. Come on, Marcellus is—”

He pushed her away, crawling up the wall until he half leaned, half stood, to look down on her. She was real, she was here, and she was in great danger. “I told you”—the room swam around him—“to get out of Jerusalem.”

She glared up at him. “I don’t follow orders very well, or had you forgotten?” She propped her shoulder under one of his arms and bore up, taking his weight. “Now, come quickly. We don’t have much—”

The cell door slammed open.

Silvanus stepped in, his eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “What have we here, eh? Two for the price of one?” He advanced on them. “The gods have smiled on me today.”

Longinus pushed Nissa away just before Silvanus kicked him in the gut. He crashed to the floor, the room spinning around him.

Silvanus’s meaty hands closed around Nissa’s loose hair. He threw her to the ground in front of Longinus. “I was looking forward to killing you. Now I’ll let you live to see me kill your little thief.” He kicked the door shut. “But I won’t kill her just yet.”

Nissa scuttled as far away from Silvanus as she could, into the farthest corner of the cell. Longinus pushed himself up and staggered into the middle of the room, blocking her from Silvanus. He had to stop him; he knew what Silvanus would do to her. “Don’t touch her.”

Silvanus let out a low laugh. “Who will stop me, Jew lover? You?”

Longinus lunged for the sword—his sword—that hung at Silvanus’s side. Silvanus dodged him and swept out an arm,
knocking Longinus to his knees. A curtain of pain dimmed his vision. Shouts sounded, and when his sight cleared, he saw Marcellus, his sword drawn, standing over a prone Silvanus.

“You take orders from me, legionary,” Silvanus barked, pushing himself onto his knees.

Marcellus circled around Silvanus until he stood in front of Longinus and Nissa. “You are the primus pilus, but I’m the optio ad carcerem.”

Silvanus’s jaw snapped shut, and his eyes narrowed.

“This is my domain, centurion. Even Pilate will tell you that.”

“So you’ll let these two go?” Silvanus stood, and his hand went to his dagger. “I’ll have you executed for treason within a day.”

Marcellus glanced over his shoulder to Longinus, his face indecisive.

“No.” Longinus stood up straighter. “He’ll take me to Pilate. I’ll take my punishment. But this girl goes free.”

Nissa darted to his side. “I’m going with you.”

Before he could open his mouth, she had turned to Marcellus. “You know what happened. I’m the Mouse. He only let me go because . . .” She pressed her lips together and glanced up at Longinus. “Take us both to Pilate, together.”

Marcellus looked from Nissa to Longinus, his brow furrowed. “Yes. They’ll go to Pilate when he returns from making his sacrifices.”

“No, not her,” Longinus ground out, turning on Marcellus.

“It’s the only way.” Marcellus moved close to him. “She won’t be safe anywhere,” he hissed. “Not from him or his men.” He jerked his head toward Silvanus.

Longinus slumped against Marcellus. He was right. Her chances with Pilate were miniscule, but with Silvanus, they were nonexistent.

Silvanus grunted. “Go ahead. Take them to Pilate.” He stalked from the cell and called back over his shoulder, “And when he’s done with them, I’ll get them both to myself.”

Hours later, three legionaries pulled Longinus from his cell and pushed him up the stairs.

“Where is Nissa?” Ribbons of pain shot through his ribs as he stumbled through the empty camp and toward the blazing torches that lit the entrance to the palace. Bolts of pain streaked through his head, and each torch doubled into two fuzzy globes of light.

“I’m here.” Nissa waited at the entrance of the palace with Marcellus.

Longinus stepped close to see her in the dim moonlight. She seemed unhurt. “Are you . . . ? Did they . . . ?”

“I guarded her myself,” Marcellus answered.

He turned to his legionary. “Take her away. She shouldn’t be here; you know that.” He heard the note of pleading in his voice but didn’t care.

“It’s too late, Longinus. Silvanus is already with him. Perhaps, because of your father . . .”

Longinus shook his head. He’d used up Pilate’s debt to his father. Still, he’d plead for Nissa.
I’m ready to die. But please, Abba, let Nissa go free.

The legionaries pushed him up the stairs and through the anteroom outside Pilate’s chamber.

Pilate sat on the cushioned chair, one elbow on his knee, his balding head resting in his cupped hand. Silvanus stood beside him, his armor and eyes glittering in the torchlight that did little to lighten the massive room. Through the framed openings on the eastern wall, the sky was faintly less black. Dawn was coming.

Longinus drew himself up.
The last dawn I will see.

Silvanus stepped forward. “Here is the traitor.”

Pilate raised his head and looked at Longinus silently. Blue shadows drooped below his eyes, and the wrinkles on his brow and cheeks had deepened into furrows. Longinus knew Pilate worried about the god of the Jews. He worried about revolution. And now he’d order the execution of his best friend’s son.

Pilate nodded to Silvanus. “What charges do you bring against this man?”

Silvanus looked pleased with himself. Too pleased. “Treason.” He paused. “And impiety.”

Pilate paled. “Impiety?”

Silvanus’s voice rose. “He follows the god of these people. He hasn’t made sacrifice to Mars for months, and when we crucified the Jew, he called him the son of a god, the god of Israel. My men heard him.”

Longinus clenched his teeth. So he was not only a traitor to Caesar but also to all the gods that Pilate feared. Silvanus had planned well.

“Longinus.” Pilate stared intently at him, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Is this true?”

Impiety—there was no worse crime in Pilate’s eyes. But Longinus wouldn’t lie, not now. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

Pilate stood, his eye twitching convulsively. He stumbled to a window and leaned on its ledge. “Your father was a good friend to me, loyal to Caesar and to our gods.”

Longinus didn’t flinch.
My father was willing to die for Caesar. I’m willing to die for my king.

Pilate spun toward Silvanus, his toga swirling around his shoulders. “What about the girl?”

Silvanus grabbed Nissa and pulled her from Marcellus, throwing her at Pilate’s feet.

“You are the Mouse?” Pilate barked.

“I am.” She answered in Greek. She crawled closer to Pilate. “I beg you. Have mercy. Please, release him.” Her Greek was stumbling, but Pilate understood her. He stared at her bent head.

A jolt of pride ran through Longinus. Nissa was, indeed, a brave woman. But of course they wouldn’t release him. If he didn’t find a way to free Nissa, they would both die. Longinus stepped toward Pilate, dropping to his knees. Arrows of pain shot
through his battered body. “In my father’s memory, I ask for this. If you were ever a friend to him, let her go free, I beg you.”

Pilate turned on him. “You shame your father’s memory. A Roman begging for the life of a Jewess. I won’t shame him further by granting it.” He waved a dismissive hand at them. “Silvanus, the girl goes to the Sanhedrin. Let them do with her what they will. As for Longinus”—his lips turned down and jaw hardened—“his punishment is death.”

NISSA CLOSED HER
eyes as a wave of fear passed through her. She would be given to the Sanhedrin, and Longinus would die.

Silvanus’s hand closed on her tunic, and he jerked her up and into his hard chest.

Longinus lunged for Silvanus, but the guards pulled him back.

She moved her lips in prayer.
The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him and I am helped.
He was with her, as he always had been.

She met Longinus’s gaze. Even with his face bloody and broken, she could see that he was no longer her enemy.
He forgives me.
His forgiveness and these few moments together would be enough to face what was coming.

Suddenly, a shout and clatter of sandaled feet rang out from the palace entrance. A soldier—another centurion—sprinted through the archway and skidded to a stop before Pilate. His face was as white as a marble column, and his breath came in gasps.

Pilate jumped to his feet and barked questions in rapid Greek. Nissa couldn’t follow him.

The soldier shook his head and stuttered. Nissa understood one thing: the man was terrified. He swallowed and clamped his mouth shut, like he was afraid to say more. His wide eyes went to Longinus.

Longinus spoke. “Cornelius, slow down. The tomb? Jesus’s tomb?”

The younger centurion’s chest rose and fell. “Yes, we rolled a stone across it; it took three of us to move it.” His words were slower, more controlled.

Silvanus grunted and dragged Nissa more tightly against him. She struggled to draw a breath.

Cornelius’s voice rose. “We were there. No one came. I didn’t fall asleep, I swear to the gods. The stone, it cracked down the middle. The earth shook and a light . . .” He licked his lips and looked at Pilate. “A light. It was . . . beautiful.”

“And then what?” Longinus glanced at Nissa, his brows lowered. She could almost read his thoughts.
What happened at the tomb? What more could they do to Jesus?

“The light . . . left.” Cornelius’s voice broke. “There was wind. And sound. Everyone ran. I stayed—I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to. Then the wind was gone, and I saw . . .” He drew a shaking breath.

No one spoke. Silvanus’s hold on Nissa loosened. Nissa glanced up to see him watching Pilate with a scowl on his face. Pilate’s chest rose and fell as though he had run across the city. His eye twitched wildly. “What did you see?” he demanded.